


Illusion

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's not quite right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Trick or Treat fest on LJ.
> 
> This is a work of fiction. No offense is intended to those portrayed herein.

_'All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.' – Edgar Allan Poe._

Cigarette smoke, mingled with aftershave, encompassed within a warm familiarity, seeped into Colin’s consciousness as he slowly awoke. His awareness of his surroundings gradually increased: the low rumble of conversation from the television, the position of his body on the couch, legs tucked up and to one side, and the soft material that his cheek was resting against. Keeping his eyes closed for the moment, Colin turned his head to press his face fully into the warmth of that material and inhaled its scent. He didn't remember falling asleep, but this was nice to wake up to.

With a sigh, Colin finally opened his eyes and lifted his head a fraction. He smiled at the sight of Ryan asleep next to him, his skin aglow with the light from the fire, and then grimaced as he took in Ryan’s position—his back wasn't going to like that. Colin slowly sat up a little more, trying and failing to suppress a yawn, which turned into a cough. Damn cold. Ryan stirred at the sound and opened his eyes groggily.

“What time is it?” His voice was husky from sleep. A low rumble.

Colin glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “It’s almost eleven.” 

He was quick to notice the flicker of pain that crossed Ryan’s face as he attempted to move, confirming his earlier fears. “Come on,” he said, gently nudging Ryan’s arm, “let’s get you to bed.” His mouth broke into a wide smile at the spark of mischief that flared in Ryan’s eyes. “To sleep, Ry.”

“I think I’ll have a nightcap first.” Ryan gingerly straightened his legs and body out. “Purely for medicinal purposes, obviously,” he added with a commendable attempt at a smirk, but Colin saw through it to the pain underneath.

“I’ll make it a large one.”

Getting to his feet, Colin frowned as his eyes travelled across the television. It was off. Yet he could have sworn he’d heard voices when he woke. He put it down to the remnants of a dream.

They had amassed a fairly broad selection of liquors, most of which had been sampled at least once. Colin noticed a particularly large bottle sitting amongst them that he didn't recognize. He picked it up, tilting it slightly to read the label.

“Where did the brandy come from?” he asked over his shoulder, twisting the bottle in his hands.

“Don’t know,” Ryan replied, without any real interest. “It was probably a present from Drew. He likes the fancy stuff.”

Colin replaced it and grabbed Ryan’s favourite whisky, pouring a generous portion into a tumbler. While Ryan drank, he grabbed the poker to deal with the dwindling fire, spreading out the burning logs to reduce the flames and allow it to extinguish itself more quickly. They hissed and sparked in protest. As he watched them, a sudden rush of sounds and images invaded Colin’s mind; a great roaring sound, desperate cries, a suffocating darkness…

“Colin?”

It all stopped in an instant, like a switch had been turned off. Colin blinked and looked down at his hand, white knuckled around the poker, frozen in its task amid the dying embers. He slowly relaxed his grip and then looked round at Ryan, who was watching him with a frown that deepened upon seeing Colin’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

Colin shook his head. He knew that any attempt to explain what he’d just experienced would sound ridiculous in the light and warmth of reality. He put it down to the memory of a bad dream and forced a smile. “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

Another coughing fit took hold as he stood up, probably triggered by the wood smoke. “Of course, this cold really isn’t helping…” 

He trailed off as something on the coffee table caught his eye. The bottle of brandy was sitting in the centre of it—the bottle of brandy that he’d left across the room—and Ryan was still in the same position on the couch, clearly not having moved. Ryan obviously hadn't noticed anything; he was busy talking about the effectiveness of vitamin C tablets against the common cold.

Colin pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, deciding that bed and sleep was definitely the best option. A combination of lack of sleep and illness could make you see any number of strange things. The morning would restore order and common sense.

Ignoring the bottle, he took Ryan’s empty tumbler and offered his hand. “Come on, gramps.”

As expected, Ryan’s relaxed expression immediately transformed into one of good-natured indignation. “You really want to go there?”

This time there was no effort required in Colin’s smile, which burst forth easily with the joy of an old game. “Okay, okay, I take it back.” 

He carefully helped Ryan to stand, mirroring each of Ryan’s winces sympathetically as the movement jarred his back. Turning out the light at the door, the room was left in darkness, save for the dim glow from the dying embers in the grate.

 

The middle-aged woman sitting in an armchair paused in the midst of her conversation with friends, pulling her shawl a little more tightly around her shoulders. “Stoke the fire, will you David? It’s getting cold in here.” 

She watched as her husband got up to do as she asked. “Be careful not to get any embers on the rug. We don’t want to end up like those poor souls who lived here before us... terrible tragedy.” Shaking her head sadly, she leaned forward to lift a bottle from the table. 

“More brandy, anyone?”

 

End.


End file.
